


blood head

by megancrtr



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: like a character study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 10:21:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1262695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megancrtr/pseuds/megancrtr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His hair is redder. Darker red. Less carrot more blood.</p><p>tag 4.07: "A Jailbird, Invalid, Martyr, Cutter, Retard, and Parasitic Twin"</p>
            </blockquote>





	blood head

His hair is redder. Darker red. Less carrot more blood. Svetlana leans in the doorway that Mickey doesn't notice her in. And you know who else she's seen with hair like that? Dariya.

Dariya who dyed her hair like cherries. So that men would pick her. She said men, the good paying ones, liked fiery spirits. But really, Svetlana is no ignorant bitch, knows it's because red hair is easier to pick out at night than black, brown.

Svetlana drops her weight to her left leg, hands pressed up against her collarbone. He's wearing green. She's wearing blue. Blue towel that's cold and she thought she'd just be coming in to get clothing. Get to sleep. But no.

The blood head is in her bed. Sprawling there. Comatose. Blacked out. She bets it's drugs, because that's how Dariya works and two blood heads can't be too different.

Cold shoots down her legs, up between her thighs and down the back of her neck as a wind crawls through the room. The front door opened a few minutes earlier. One of the brothers. She bets it's one of the brothers. She hates them. Hates this one. Hopes it's not the father. Not that bastard, wiggling and cursing and dragged out of the house. Broken parole. She knows they never stay in American jails. They're not like Russian ones.

He would've been fucked. Fucked for raping his daughter.

She hears things.

She remembers things. Like the limp twitch that was Mickey's dick. Can't forget the way he flipped her. Fucked her like he almost cared. Enough for his father to like it. For the carrot to weep. She saw that over Mickey's shoulder, the way he turned his eyes away. Dead eyes. Dead petrified eyes, all Mickey had when she looked back into them. Their bodies slapping together on that disgusting coach. Her breasts bouncing. Her feet in the air. She'd been wearing her favorite shoes that day. She threw them out. She wants to burn the coach. Mickey won't even let her throw it out. Won't let her get rid of it.

Masochist.

Doesn't care, she doesn't care that she thought she'd won at fucking the gay out of him. Thought she was safe. But he'd just been waiting. Waiting to pull this boy back. She thought he shipped off. Thought he knew to get the fuck out. To run the fuck away. When she saw the blood on their faces and the crooked noses and torn skin. None of them should look back.

She'd gotten paid a lot. Got the job at the spa. Lost the job at the spa, because of Mickey. All gained, all lost because of this trashy American.

These faggot Americans. Wouldn't have been fucked by them if the one hadn't been fucking the other.

She watches the smoke drift up from between Mickey's fingers. They never touch her unless they have to. When the father's around. Sometimes they'll press against her shoulder, curl around her waist. Neither of them tense like they want to, because they know better. Disposable. Both of them. Really, they're only still alive, because of each other and pretending happily-ever-after finds Russian prostitutes and trashy white boys.

She thinks about walking forward before he sees her and taking the smoke from him. Taking a long drag and then rubbing it against his forehead. Leave a burn scar. Because stupid.

She should've known stupidity ran in all of them. In all the family. But she'd thought he'd had enough self preservation. Thought if he didn't for himself he would at least for the blood head.

Mandy could save the boy if someone saw. But fucking Mickey staring here couldn't. Fucking Mickey smoking and staring and still -- he couldn't.

Mandy could lie through her teeth and fuck her black boy and save Svetlana and Mickey and save the prostitute. Mickey can't. Eyes like oceans, rimmed in red. Smoke. She'll tell the brothers it’s the smoke. But really it's the solid boy in front of him. Boys. Both of them.

She's old in comparison. Old, dried up, used up.

Both of them are breathing in unsteady breaths. He didn't even take off the boots. His blinks are slow and he's like when she pretends to be asleep and he gets up in the middle of the night, sits on the side of the bed, running one hand through his hair, using the other to smoke.

One time she sat up. She sat up when they were only about a week together and told him to go back to sleep. He told her to fuck off. She started to hum. He told her to shut the fuck up. She hummed and he sunk his head into his hands and she hummed and he muttered fuck.

She hummed and he didn't tell her sorry, but she got the message when he left the bed. She stopped humming when the fridge opened and the bottles rattled and she heard the coach springs and his grunt sinking down onto it.

She got it.

Like she got the broken mirror and the blood on his hands. If they were in the first week she would've tried to help him wrap up. Would've offered him a hit of her good stuff for the pain, inside and out. But in the second week he had slapped her open handed across the cheek in front of his father.

Appearances. She knew it had been for appearances. Knew that image came first. No bad mouthing to him especially with the father, especially when they've both been into the bottle. Especially not when the father is shouting at him too. And the word faggot slips off of his tongue. No being nice. Russians aren't nice to their green card husbands and they aren't nice to their Russians.

She can't believe Mickey's hunched over in the corner of the room he doesn't like. He never told her why, but it must be because the single bed used to be there and Svetlana bet they fucked on it. Fucked with silent noises that weren't the stifled silence when she fucked him. Weren't held back tears and pretend enjoyment.

She watches as his eyes move off of his body, past his body, lifting to her. His entire face tilts up, a little like fear. Like he can't believe she's caught him. Thinks for a moment something awful. Even though she's caught him lots of other times, even if she never stayed around to be noticed. She slides her hands down over her full breasts. They're hurting now. Big and leaking sometimes. She moves her weight to two feet, and knows he only communicates in actions. So she smooths her hands over her stomach and Mickey looks down to him.

He isn't even trying anymore. He isn't trying to hide that something has shattered in him. He isn't trying to hide whatever has broken.

Fear drives itself into Svetlana's stomach. Through her child.

She drops her eyes to the blood head. Arm over his chest. Mickey didn't move it into a move comfortable position. Didn't fit a pillow under his head. Didn't pull off his boots.

Must've dropped him there. Then backed away. Too relieved and too nervous, because too scared.

She'd only heard one pair of footsteps. Heavy footsteps.

So stupid. So stupid her and him and all.

She starts to get like Mickey's eyes. From the smoke. Must be from the smoke that's still drifting up. She takes one more look at him.

He can't look at her. Can't look away from him. Can't cover his eyes. Can't tell her to shut up. Can't tell her to fuck off.

But she does anyway.

Because in ten minutes, when she comes back, he better be ready. He better be ready to scowl and cuss and kick that boy anywhere else. And then if he has to fuck him, follow the blood head to wherever the fuck he goes and fuck him there. Fuck him outside of the house. Because there is at least one brother home and Mandy's black man and the father eventually because American jails are nothing like Russian. 

And Mickey should shave the blood hair away. Or dye it dark. Because Dariya might survive as a beacon in the night, too cheap to bother with condoms, but Svetlana knows blood head needs the light. Knows Mickey needs someway to stay out of the dark. 

Knows she has nowhere to go and a baby on the way and has already had enough destroyed by these faggots. 


End file.
